


Is The Darkness Ours To Take?

by Zigzagwanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Kylux - Freeform, Love, M/M, Sexual Tension, Smut, mentions of kidnapping and torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer
Summary: This is for the HardKylux prompt on Tumblr;  ''Armitage Hux has an ego problem. How does the new Supreme Leader solve it?''Thank you for reading! If you are able to comment etc I do really appreciate it.xxx(I'm on Tumblr too...zigzag-wanderer)





	Is The Darkness Ours To Take?

A surprised silence follows Ren’s words, a dark shadow falling, full of whispers.

Hux keeps the flare of pleasure off his face and deep down in his belly, where it belongs.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader,” he snaps out, and it echoes insincerely across the vast void of the war-room. 

They look at one another, Ren and Hux, metal mask matched to one of indifference and disdain. 

Then the General lifts his chin. 

“I would prefer to have your faith in advance, however, rather than your praise when I am inevitably proven right.”

The other officers murmur. 

Those closest to Hux edge away.

But Ren simply folds his hands together, then inclines his head in agreement. 

Hux rises.

He can feel Ren’s eyes upon him as he marches from the room. 

 

Hux pushes the soldier off him, cursing, and reaches for his boots.

The brief moment of oblivion has been bought at too high a cost, with time Hux does not have. 

He knows how to make a man come; how to answer desperation with barrack-room flattery, how to spur the matter on, with suck-marks and bites where they will not show.

The least he expects in return is a similar proficiency.

Hux is furious.

Hux is late. 

It is remarked upon by his counterparts, as is the fact that his top button is undone.

“Enough.” Ren intervenes mildly, as Hux begins to snarl at his persecutors. “The Finaliser is by far the most complex command of all. We should be grateful for our General’s presence here, not critical of any minor infringements of protocol.”

Hux hangs back at the conclusion of the meeting.

“Do not make of me a pet, my Lord,” he trembles, taut with dissatisfaction. “I do not seek your patronage, nor do I need it. My abilities speak for themselves.”

Ren picks up his sabre and helmet and descends from his throne. “I only spoke the truth. I value prowess in the battlefield more than petty time-keeping.”

He looks at Hux’s still-fluttering pulse, the dampness in the hollow of his throat. 

“But attend my presence again, like this,” Ren tells him, stepping close, “stinking of sweat, and dripping with the release of another man, and whatever your worth is to the Order, I will happily break your pretty white neck.”

 

Ren enters Hux’s quarters. He is unannounced, yet not unexpected.

Hux turns from where he has been striking the weighted bag with his fists.

He rubs off his face and chest with an old cloth and takes to his chair, putting his work station between them. 

Ren has come direct to Hux from the diplomatic function being held planetside, judging by his attire. 

The Supreme Leader glances methodically around, taking in the stacked datapads, the multiple information screens.

The vials of stimulant. The unmade bunk.

The shelf of sex tools. 

“You broke your adjutant’s jaw today,” Ren comments. 

“Court-martial me or get out.” Hux starts reading the notifications he missed while completing his makeshift training session.

“I do not care about how you deal with incompetence.” Ren wanders around to stand at Hux’s back. 

Hux keeps his bare shoulders straight. His tousled head erect. He places his hands down flat on the sheened skin of his parted legs, half-hidden beneath the metal desk. 

“I am displeased, General, because you are completing tasks ill-fitting to your rank, and because you consistently refuse to be present at my side.”

Hux licks moisture from his upper lip. 

“Give me a decent assisting officer, then. As it stands, I cannot be spared to attend such trivial occasions as you deem necessary for our cause.” 

It is said sneeringly. Ren smells faintly of spices, and of some sweet, intoxicating liquor.

Ren gestures, and Hux’s chair spins to face him. 

Then he bends himself down, crouching, a flowing folding of muscle and black silks. 

He takes up Hux’s left hand and inspects the swelling along the knuckle.

Hux stares steadily at Ren’s mouth.

“You may choose two graduates. The brightest that the Academy has.” Ren runs one gloved finger along the bruising, pressing down between the knobs of bone, the red skin stretching. 

Hux bites the inside of his cheek, but does not pull his fingers away. 

“Train them personally, General. Be to them an example, an idol. Set them to work tirelessly against each other, in the hopes of earning your favour.”

Ren stands. He does not need to add that these hopes will only be realised on a professional level.

Hux nods, slowly. 

The Supreme Leader takes his leave, and the scent of meat and honey hangs heavy in the air.

Hux shuffles down his underwear and crudely begins to stroke himself. His new orders come in. 

One is an instruction; Hux is to become Ren’s regular sparring partner. There is a schedule of the fighting techniques his lordship regularly practises, and the times Hux will need to be completely at Ren’s disposal.

The other is, unmistakeably, an invitation to dinner. 

 

They fuck on the table. 

Hux’s entire body blotches with desire. Ugly. Chaotic. Beautiful.

Wet and panting, the Supreme Leader lies on the floor, afterwards, next to General Hux, and feeds him pieces of broken food. 

Hux straddles Ren and drools wine onto his breastbone and then laps it back up again. Smiles wolfishly as Ren bares his throat and moans, pushing Hux’s teeth towards his nipple.

They stumble to Ren’s bed and fuck there. 

Then again, up against the wall of the spacious bathing area, spread out and slow, now, slow and sore, yet still unsated. 

Hux’s body becomes a different thing to the sharp-yet-hollow thing he has inhabited all his life; a molten, pliant, giving thing.

They talk until they sleep. Sleep until they wake. Lick and touch and curl. 

Hux wants never to leave. 

Then at change of shift he gets up and dresses and walks across the ship to the bridge.

His ship, he reminds himself. His bridge.

Nothing at all has changed. 

 

There is a short war. Interaction is reduced to the usual babble of organised brutality.

Hux finishes conquering the last city. He tells the troopers that he does so for the glory of his Supreme Leader, and finds that he means it.

Ren seeks him out and tongues him open and takes him, while the ruined palace burns down around their heels.

This time, they call one other by their names, not their titles, as they come.

Soon after, the annexation is legitimised with a crowning.

Ren and Hux stand at the shoulders of the puppet potentate, their hands brushing together.

Hux is weary, and waiting to be held, wanting to be used and treasured both.

He does not spare the effort to look at his Supreme Leader. He does not have to; Ren is his drug of choice now, craved and supplied, singing along each and every vein. 

Then Hux is called away, and falls into an appallingly obvious trap. 

The mutineers overpower him as if he were no more than a mewling cadet, capitalising on his embattled condition and distracted mind.

Before the hood is slipped on, his body beaten and transported elsewhere, Hux recognises the very boots that fly towards his face. 

He remembers them from some furtive encounter, from before.

From before Ren; it seems like a lifetime ago.

 

Hux is slapped back to consciousness with fire, with wires. He retches at his own odours. 

The torture appears to have no military purpose.

They ask no questions. Gloat over no ransom. Their punishments are childish. Their taunts personal. 

Hux realises then that he will die. 

And all because of love.

His arm wound is fortuitous, and Hux works the secret capsule of volitiloxin out of the muscle with his teeth.

Spits it into the midst of the bragging and drunken guards. 

He holds his breath, his luck, his nerve; the vapour corrodes, his captors convulse, and Hux is free.

He drags his leg until he can splint it, then he slaughters them all. 

And he claws his way back home. 

To Ren.

 

Hux limps into the throne room.

Points a weapon at the Supreme Leader.

Ren’s powers are strong; he must have sensed the conspiracy against Hux.

Or, more logically, made sure that it occurred. 

“You should have just murdered me. Long ago.” It is more of a lament than an accusation. 

Hux stands as formally as he can, with all the damage done to him. 

“To pretend that I had your…regard,” Hux cannot keep his voice from fraying, “to set me above the other officers, just so they would plot to tear me down, is to rob the Order of more than just one mere General.” 

Ren walks straight at him.

“It was necessary.”

He touches Hux’s burnt scalp. Hux does not flinch. Although he shakes, uncontrollably, at the longed-for contact. 

He swallows it down. The humiliation. The heartache. “Your behaviour is no less than treason, my lord.”

Ren does not look away. He never has. “I put nothing, not even the Order, above you, Hux. I knew that you would show those traitors no mercy, and have been waiting for you to return, victorious.”

Hux wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He is so tired.

“You _allowed_ this to happen? You were _testing_ me?”

“Not testing. Warning. You must fully understand the danger involved in what I ask of you, before you give me your answer.” 

“Answer?”

“You are too precious; you must be prepared for unending peril, else I cannot allow myself to claim you as my own.”

Hux staggers a little.

Ren holds him by the hips. 

“As my favourite, you earned the bitterness and envy of a few lesser men. You must see that as my consort, you would be hated by multitudes.” 

“Consort?”

“You have had my faith since you asked me for it; perhaps you could begin accept my praise as well,” Ren shrugs, “and my proposal?” 

Hux drops the blaster to clatter upon the floor. “Strange, that I do not want to kill you, for this.”

Ren frowns down at Hux’s injuries. 

“Strange that a mere General holds himself in such high regard, that he does not swoon, and hurry to clasp his Supreme Leader’s hand in marriage.”

For once, Hux allows the flare of pleasure to flood his face. 

Ren can put flame to the rest of his body, later. 

“You might do better, my lord,” Hux says, as he lifts up his chin, “if you went down on one knee?”


End file.
